


Dry Bite

by Martiverse



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, I REGRET NOTHING, PWP, Smut, Translation from Italian so please forget my mistakes, the "Alive" trailer made me ship these two, there will surely be errors somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 05:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12976860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Martiverse/pseuds/Martiverse
Summary: [...] Tracer was like a dragonfly, with those big orange goggles of hers and the quivering body like a flutter of transparent wings. She was a naive dragonfly, torn up by internal conflicts and way too curious not to jump directly into the spider web because she was one of those insects confident enough to think that they'll be able to break it and fly away at any moment. She was never a prey but something more similar to another player on the opposite edge of the chess board... that's why killing her wouldn't be nearly enough. [...][ita-eng translation]





	Dry Bite

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  This story was made for the #10 Italian Pornfest, and it's all thanks to a lot of my friends who spent their time in reading and correcting my awful English if I'm finally able to present it to you all "Dry Bite" in its English version!  
> So, a big thank you to [Lalla](https://bjaisgod.tumblr.com/) & [Ale](http://denebrigel.tumblr.com/) & Sof for their patience and help!!  
> Also, if you find any errors and have suggestions let me know so that I can fix them!

Some spiders prefer to wait for their prey to show up, falling incautiously in the embrace of death... but Widowmaker was a different kind of huntress. Surely she wasn't lacking in patience, the fundamental element for a sniper. She was able to keep a window in her sight for hours just to wait until the face of her objective showed up and then BANG! The satisfaction, the incredible and endless flow of pleasure given by the sight of blood splattering on the glass shattered by the bullet. She was able to weave her invisible traps and wait for someone else dying hour.  
However it was difficult to give up that primal and sadistic shiver provoked by the hunting itself... because killing is easy, but torture is an entirely different matter.  
It was like extending the murder.  
Tracer tried to say something but Widowmaker shut her mouth with her lips. Her warm breath filled her throat slipping between their tongues, facing a sometimes feeble, sometimes determined resistance. It almost seemed like she was barely remembering that the lips that were kissing her, as fleshy and soft as they were, were also those of an assassin.  
But Tracer was like a dragonfly, with those big orange goggles of hers and the quivering body like a flutter of transparent wings.  
She was a naive dragonfly, torn up by internal conflicts and way too curious not to jump directly into the spider web because she was one of those insects confident enough to think that they'll be able to break it and fly away at any moment. She was never a prey but something more similar to another player on the opposite edge of the chess board... that's why killing her wouldn't be nearly enough.  
Life could be taken away from insignificant flies, from those beetles who are so vain to think themselves as immortal, from dirty cockroaches that hide their bullshit behind their shiny shells. Dragonflies were exempt from death because it was definitely more fun to see them wriggle in the spider web, convinced that they can actually fly away...  
Widowmaker smiled with her lips still pushed on Tracer's, then opened her mouth to sink her teeth on Tracer's lower lip, sucking it and pulling it forward with a sharp move.  
Tracer moaned and her back tensed against the brick chimney. The roofs of King’s Row seemed all the same at that hour of the night; the air was dense with the smell of charcoal from the burning fireplaces, lightened up to face the cold. Still, Tracer skin was hot against Amélie's finger, ardent the wrist trapped strongly in her hand and her belly under the aviatress' jacket.  
The thing that Widowmaker loved the most was being able to hear the scared throbbing of Lena's heart. It echoed through the veins of her wrist as if she were jabbing her nails directly into the essence of her life.  
It was so fast! Tu-tum! Tu-tum! Like a terrified rabbit.  
The hand moved from her belly slipping under the edge of her canary's yellow leggings, stealing a way too loud gasp from Tracer's lips.  
"Wow. Oh, ok!" Tracer laughed awkwardly, tightening her tights in a desperate attempt to flee from her "I don't really think that this is a good idea!"  
She was trying to convince her like they were two normal girls, those who met in the morning in a _café_ and started to go out together. Widowmaker made sure to remind her their opposing roles by biting her ear and pulling the metallic piercings.  
Again the dragonfly struggled, shaking the wires of the spider web. Before Tracer could say any of her too clean cussing ( _Blimey? Rubbish?_ Seriously...?!) Widowmaker shut her mouth with another kiss and pushed her left hand between her thighs.  
Tracer moaned and tried to push her back but her wrist, still trapped in Amélie's hand, was just knocked over the wall with more strength. She just had one free hand, and she pushed it against her rival's shoulder... but again her curiosity was stronger than her fear and just a second later she was clinging onto her with her arm behind the back of her neck.  
Dragonflies are fickle animals, they dance with danger, and the spider's bite is poisonous and stupefying, it makes their preys slow and uncoordinated... but Widowmaker was a different kind of huntress.  
She didn't need any tricks or deceits to make Tracer crumble because she was perfectly conscious of her own charm; she had killed more people in a bed than with her rifle because hunting was more rewarding than the stake.  
Tracer's leggings were so tight that they could make her head spin, not to mention her damned underwear. Every time Amélie moved a hand under them, the fabric felt tight against her wrist, almost as if they were trying to hinder her passage... but honestly, there were few things in this world that could prevent a woman like Widowmaker from doing what she wanted, and at this very moment her goal was to caress Tracer in the slowest and most exasperating way possible.  
She was good at what she did, she knew what to look for and where to put more pressure. Tracer was already melting under her fingers and she just had started to touch her; the idea of being able to make her tremble so quickly was almost flattering! However, she had far greater plans in mind and immediately grant her the pleasure she was looking for, that was the last of her options.  
No, she wanted more.  
Curious dragonflies don't deserve passion, but punishment.  
“ _La Veuve tisse sa toile…_ ” she whispered in her ear, warning her of the trap she was falling into. The only words that Tracer knew in French were _baguette, fuseaux and decoupage_ , she didn't really want to be understood. All was going according to her mental plan and she was weaving a new thread in her spider web with every taste of her skin, kissing her, breathing on her neck, still slipping her glove-covered hand under her leggings.  
_Dry Bite_ is the term used to define a spider bite that doesn't inject any type of poison and thousand were the times that Amélie's teeth impressed their mark on Tracer's neck. Her light clavicles were barely visible beneath the soft collar of the aviatress' jacket but Widowmaker didn't spare them the same treatment. Sometimes slowly, sliding her teeth over her flesh in what seemed more like a caress than a bite... others sinking her teeth until she was able to steal a shriek from Lena's lips. Her voice was less annoying when she wasn't speaking and was just moaning.  
Once again Tracer tried to free her wrist trapped on the wall to put up a pathetic excuse of a defense, but Widow's grip remained firm. She slipped her finger lower and found her already wet in response to her attention. Her nose and cheeks were dyed in an adorable shade of red and she kept her mouth open without being able to connect with her brain, not even enough to put two words in a row.  
She tried because she wasn't able to shut up, but all that came out from her throat were just incomplete sounds, fragmented words.  
"Ame-... I... no-... I... plea-" and Widowmaker barely paid attention when she was saying serious things, so her moaning didn't even reach her eardrums. She gently slid a finger in her and immediately Tracer clawed her back, flattening against the wall and trying to close the legs that she, actually, didn't even remember having opened...  
"Amélie!" she shouted. It wasn't clear whether it was a reproach, a prayer to stop or an invitation to go on because again Widowmaker bit her lower lip and caressed the part trapped between her teeth with her tongue. Tracer let out a full moan filled with pleasure and, as soon as Widow released her mouth, she hurried to push her forehead into the notch of her shoulder, hiding her blushing face.  
Amélie ran her teeth on the back of Tracer's neck and began to move the hand between her legs with precision and patience. Up and down, slowly, almost coming out of her warm intimacy but always pushing back inside before she could let her feel the cold lack of her presence.  
To be honest, Widowmaker's fingers were frosty in her gloves and the contrast with the heat of Tracer's skin was as strong as the pleasant burning sensation that happens while trying to pick up some snow with bare hands. Widow's heartbeat was calm and measured while she was making her pray’s explode with sensations.  
But what does it matter to a spider, if her dragonfly dies?  
Tracer's knees trembled, she was struggling to stay up. Widowmaker's fingers were now two and she knew all the ways to transform her muscles into jelly. She went faster only to slow it down and force her to beg to get back to the rhythm that she had abandoned.  
Tracer grasped Amélie's neck in a desperate attempt to keep herself up, shook as she was by moans and sighs.  
"Amélie" she gasped in her ear "Amélie... Amélie!"  
... and for a moment Widowmaker caressed the idea of leaving her like that and going away to let her taste the humiliation at his peak. However, Tracer clasped her tights around her hand and was shaken by a shiver that broke her voice. She squeezed Widow's neck like it was a toy in a little girl's hand as she reached her orgasm, turning into smoke all her plans of vengeance and shaming.  
Certainly, she always knew how to ruin the party...  
Widowmaker took away the hand from her leggings and wiped the glove on Tracer's thigh in disappointment, not knowing whether to glorify her own skills or be pissed at her for taking away all the fun. She finally let her wrist go and tried to get rid of her grip, but this time it was Tracer the one who trapped her by passing both hands around her neck and clinging to her like she was a damned coat rack.  
"Let me go" Widow immediately scoffed, trying to push her back and only getting a kiss on her neck in response.  
"Oh, Amélie" whispered Tracer in a disgustingly grateful and full of love voice "You are definitely the strangest girlfriend I've ever had... but _I love you so much_!"  
And when Widowmaker realized that it was her own heart the one that was beating faster, she was forced to wonder if she wasn't the one trapped in the spider web...


End file.
